


After About an Hour

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Established Relationship, Kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-05
Updated: 2006-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: That was fun, so they do it again. Sequel to Pushed Buttons, Crossed Wires.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: After About an Hour (Sequel to Pushed Buttons, Crossed Wires)  
Author: merepersiflage  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (established relationship)  
Rating: 18+  
Category: kinky PWP  
Word Count: 3000  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: That was fun, so they do it again.   
Warnings: Incest, graphic sex, language, kinky smut (Sam’s pain kink)   
Disclaimer: No actual Winchesters were harmed in the making of this fic. It’s so not real, so not mine, it’s actually all CGId.  
Notes: A lot of people asked for a sequel, so I tried to oblige.   
It might make more sense if you've read Pushed Buttons, Crossed Wires  
  
  
  
They sped east through the Chequamegon National Forest as the lightning stopped flashing in the rear view mirror. Dean had turned up AC/DC loud enough to drown out the thunder anyway, but he couldn’t quite drown out the thoughts in his head.   
  
He might enjoy flirting with every pretty thing that crossed his range of vision, but despite appearances and the opinion of his brother, he didn’t spend all his time thinking about sex. He enjoyed it, check; thought about how to get it when he wanted it, check; but as long as everybody came and nothing regrettable was said at the moment before lift off, he figured there really wasn’t a whole lotta need for thinking about it afterward.   
  
Sex was good, sometimes it was great, and sometimes it was I-could-die-happy-right-the-fuck-now fantastic. What he had just done with—to—Sam needed a whole new freakin’ classification.   
  
For the first time in his life, Dean could see a reason for a little post-coital discussion. But how the hell did you start that kind of conversation: Hey, Sam, how long have you wanted me to take a belt to your ass and fuck it raw?  
  
He stopped tapping out the bass line on the steering wheel and brought a hand over to Sam’s thigh. His brother had been staring out the window, but now he looked back at him, the light from the dash reflecting off his face, making dark shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. Dean looked back at the inky ribbon of road with the words dying in his throat. Actions were a lot easier and harder to misunderstand.   
  
His fingers ran up and down the inseam of Sam’s jeans. Sam shifted and moaned softly.   
  
His ass had to be black and blue—if it were a regular injury, he’d be telling him to ice it. Why the fuck did he want to see what marks he’d left on his brother’s skin, and keep’em fresh? Want to know if Sam would get equally hard if he spanked his nipples, bit at his hip bones, if he took his hand to his ass—and suddenly the image of Sam bent over that picnic table hit him again and he was so fucking hard he almost swerved off the road.   
  
“Fuck,” he snarled over the music, grabbing the wheel with both hands.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“What, Dean?” Sam’s head swiveled as he searched for whatever had provoked Dean’s outburst.   
  
Dean turned down the radio. “That. What we just did. What I just did.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Sam shifted again and a little hiss escaped his lips. “It was—why the hell are you asking me? You were there.”  
  
Well, that was different. There was something Sam didn’t want to talk about?   
  
Bon Scott’s screams were a whisper in the speakers, the wind was whipping by his head, but the silence in the car was louder. Dean’s boner wasn’t going anywhere, and Sam was shifting and wincing every few minutes. The second Dean saw a patch of gravel on the side of the road, he spun off onto it. His eyes picked out the sign labeling the trail head. “Cooper’s Falls .8 km”   
  
He turned off the engine, and now it was really too fucking quiet. Goddamn freaky woods. Give him a nice cemetery any day.   
  
“So,” he said, unable to endure the silence for another second. “You wanna—”  
  
Sam pushed open his door, and Dean’s head got light for a second as he imagined what they were about to get up to in the back seat. He was reaching into the glove compartment for lube and a condom before he heard the crunch of gravel and realized Sam was stalking off.   
  
He got out, moving awkwardly and cursing, and tried to catch up to Sam before his legs gave him too much of a lead and made Dean do something really painful like try to jog with the fucking Washington Monument stuffed down his jeans.   
  
He caught up with Sam on a little footbridge about twenty yards in. Its ten two by fours and a hand rail spanned a little creek that flashed silver in the starlight. He looked up for a second and saw the Milky Way arch right over their heads. Camping might suck, but the stars were damn pretty. He took a deep breath.   
  
“Hey. What’s wrong? I thought you were okay with it.”   
  
“Because I thought you were.”  
  
Dean closed the gap between them and pulled Sam tight into his body, careful to keep his hands above his waist. “Does it feel like I’m not okay with it?”   
  
Sam answered him with a slow rub of his hips, and Dean let his hands slip down inside the loose waistband of Sam’s jeans and over the still burning flesh of his ass.   
  
“Damn.” He hadn’t thought he could get any harder.  
  
Sam groaned and kissed him.   
  
“Tell me, Sammy.”  
  
“I’m all right with it.”  
  
Dean’s fingers found a raised bit of flesh, a welt he’d left on his brother’s skin and pinched it.  
  
Sam jumped. “Shit,” and his voice was breathy and high, stripped of its usual resonance.   
  
Dean tried to pull back far enough to look at his face, but Sam just pulled at his shoulders and ground into him, his dick a rigid pressure against Dean’s belly.   
  
“Well, I’m all right with it, too.” His fingers found another welt, and Sam rubbed harder. “But this is different.”  
  
“Can you just shut up and fuck me?”  
  
“Well, that’s something new.”  
  
“Me wanting you to fuck me?” Sam’s voice was still a little high, but amused.   
  
“No, you wanting not to talk.” Dean reached for Sam’s fly. “Listen, I’m not mad any more. And you’ve gotta tell me if this goes too far.”  
  
“Shut up, Dean.” Sam shoved his hands away and kicked off his boots and jeans.   
  
Fine. Talking was overrated. “The shirts.”   
  
Sam ripped them over his head, and his brother was one long glowing length of skin and muscle in the darkness.   
  
“I wanna see.” Dean shoved his shoulder so Sam spun around and grabbed at the hand rail for support. A faint pattern of bruises was just visible on Sam’s ass. Dean groaned and ran his hand over it, fingers finding all those welts. He wasn’t going to keep asking why hurting Sam made them both so fucking hot. It did, and that was enough.   
  
“Hang on,” he murmured in Sam’s ear. He smacked him once, felt the heat and sting travel up his own arm. Sam moaned.   
  
He wondered if Sam would get off on being tied there to take it, but Dean decided part of what got to him was that Sam took it without the excuse of being bound. He stayed in place because he wanted it, wanted Dean to do it, and if that thought didn’t make him come in his pants nothing would.   
  
“Don’t let go.”  
  
Sam could feel his arms tremble as he gripped the slender rail. Jesus, this was beyond fucked up, and he still didn’t want it to stop. His dick felt like a freaking baseball bat between his legs. Despite knowing that what he was feeling was pain, his body kept confusing it with mind-blowing pleasure.   
  
There was a twisting and snapping in the trees beside the creek, and he knew even before he felt it what Dean had been doing. The switch flicked across his thighs, a whole new kind of pain, a sharp line of fire.   
  
A second later, Dean’s hand was on his cock, fingers slick with lube, and Sam bucked into those knowing strokes. Dean left him hanging on a knife’s point of pleasure as his hand withdrew and the switch hit the inside of his spread thighs.   
  
He jumped, and Dean’s fingers were back on his cock. Holy Mother of God, he would die from this. His heart was going to fucking explode from pounding. Dean pinched his nipple, nails almost meeting in that tender bit of flesh, his other hand still busy on Sam’s cock.   
  
Sam couldn’t feel the rail in his hands, or the boards under his bare feet. He was nothing but confused sensation, hot-cold, bitter-sweet, ache-joy all blended with the flashes of light and dark behind his closed eyes.   
  
Dean released his dick again, and Sam felt that approaching orgasm try to back itself up through his spine, almost as painful as the bite on his hip that followed. Dean found the tightest part of skin over bone and sucked it in past his teeth, clamped on it until Sam couldn’t tell if the skin was burning or freezing in his mouth. Would he bleed? Did he care?  
  
“I want to put a mark on every inch of you, Sammy. I want every single bit of you to know you’re mine. Every step, every move you’ll feel it. You’ll never shake me off you.”  
  
Sam could only grunt in response. Now his hips were bucking constantly, his dick pumping in empty air when Dean denied him his hand.   
  
The switch sliced across his ass this time, laying down a new line across all that bruised skin. Sam yelped, but he didn’t jerk away. Dean’s tongue worked gently across that new pain.   
  
“Jesus, Sam. How far?” Dean’s voice held a kind of reverence that made Sam want to let him peel his skin off in strips with that switch.   
  
“I don’t know.” God, was that his voice? It shook harder than his arms.   
  
“But you’ll tell me?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
The next stroke came across the top of his hips and that was almost too much. He twisted away. Dean got the message because he didn’t go there again.   
  
Instead, it was his open hand this time, warm and intimate and loud. Sam arched back into each smack as if it were a caress.   
  
Dean bit down on his shoulder blade, hard enough to make Sam think he was leaving a full dental impression, but then Dean’s hand was back on his dick and he didn’t care if he chewed right through to the bone. Dean’s cock was rubbing along his ass, keeping that fire burning as it ground over welts. His hand came around and flicked his nipple before pinching it again.   
  
Sam’s head rolled back, and Dean’s mouth moved up to bite at his stretched throat.   
  
Sam’s balls tightened, but he didn’t want to come yet.  
  
“No,” he managed to get out.  
  
Dean stopped, stopped everything.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Not like this. I want—” Sam swallowed. He could still feel the echoes from the pounding he’d taken an hour ago, echoes that told him this was not the best idea, but his crossed wires didn’t seem to care because he went on. “I want you in me when I come.”  
  
“Holy shit,” he felt Dean jerk away from him and knew his words had almost driven Dean over the edge.   
  
Fucking hell, Sam was going to kill them both. The very idea of fucking that ass after he’d so thoroughly marked it up almost made him shoot all over Sam’s back.   
  
“Are you sure?” He’d taken him so hard back at the campground he wasn’t sure he hadn’t torn him.  
  
Sam nodded.   
  
He eased his dry fingers between Sam’s cheeks. Nothing but hard dry muscle. Dean let out a deep breath. All right. But this time they were using lube.   
  
Sam tried to shove his ass onto Dean’s fingers, and Dean pulled his hand away. “Easy, Sammy.”  
  
He pulled the lube out of his pocket and coated Sam gently. Too gently for Sam who kept trying to climb back onto them.   
  
Dean sat on the foot bridge.   
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“One standing fuck’s about all my legs can handle for a night.” He unhooked his belt and opened his fly. He wasn’t about to get slivers in his ass either, so that’s as far as he was going. He suited and slicked up.   
  
Sam was still standing.   
  
“You joinin’ me sometime tonight?” He could see the tremble in Sam’s thighs. “Kneel down.”   
  
Dean stretched out until his head was almost off the other side of the footbridge. The other end hit him mid thigh. Uncomfortable but not unbearable. Sam came down and straddled him, his knees just on the edge of the bridge.   
  
“Hold on again. I don’t want to send you into the creek.”  
  
Sam looked down at him. “If I go, I’m making damn sure you come with me.”  
  
“That’s my boy. Now, get down here.”  
  
Sam lifted himself on his knees, and Dean gripped his cock to guide it into Sam. The head slipped past the first ring of muscle without resistance, and then stopped. Sam hung on the hand rail, eyes closed, lips tight.   
  
“Wanna stop?”  
  
“God, no. I just—”   
  
A little give and Dean slid in another inch. His hips were screaming at him to thrust up, his dick demanding that he yank Sam down bury himself to the balls, but he waited. He moved his hands to Sam’s hips to steady him—and himself.  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
It was going to kill him, but he would do it. He tried not to sound frustrated. “All right. Get off then.”  
  
“No, I can’t. Please, Dean.”  
  
And Dean got it. It wasn’t just the pain, it was Dean causing it, and he needed him to finish it.  
  
Dean took a tight grip on Sam’s hips and slammed him down. Sam’s back arched so hard he thought they were going to go over, but the hand rail kept them up. Dean couldn’t imagine what the belt and jeans felt like against the skin of Sam’s ass, but it couldn’t be too bad, because Sam never lifted himself an inch, just started grinding around on him, churning like he wanted Dean’s cock to turn his insides to butter.   
  
He watched his brother’s face, saw his jaw get sharp as a blade, lips press into an unconscious pout. He swore he could feel each individual ring of muscle clamp on his cock as Sam rocked on him and then he had to start thrusting, couldn’t stop it any more than he could his own heartbeat.   
  
His hips came off the boards, and Sam arched his back again. Fuck, he must be in up to Sam’s spine.  
  
And they were moving in perfect opposition, whispering curses and encouragement over the sound of running water. He moved a hand around to Sam’s tailbone and the other closed over his cock.   
  
“No. Not yet.”  
  
Dean chewed on his lower lip. “I can’t hang on much longer, Sam.”  
  
“But it’s—shit. I can’t. It’s too much. I’m just--”  
  
Dean rubbed his thumb through the precome at the head of Sam’s cock. “Let go, Sammy. Come on.”   
  
Sam’s motion hitched.   
  
“That’s it,” he coaxed.   
  
Sam arched farther back, and Dean knew they were going to fly off the bridge.   
  
“Please.”   
  
He didn’t know what Sam was begging for now, but he rocked up his hips and began stroking his cock as fast as he could.   
  
Sam’s tension tightened every muscle and pulled Dean in deeper. And then it was like being on one of those vibrating motel beds. Sam shook so hard Dean thought he’d snap the rail right off—if he didn’t snap off Dean’s cock first.   
  
Sam shot onto Dean’s hand, quick spurts like the rhythmic jerk of his hips. And everyone of those jerks made Sam’s ass squeeze tighter around Dean’s cock.   
  
Dean dropped his head back and felt his orgasm roar through him on a liquid rush of electricity, burst bright like the incredible arch of stars over his head. Fucking hell. If they kept this up they’d be dead in a week from fucking heart attacks.  
  
Sam was panting, hanging onto the rail, eyes still closed. Dean realized he’d lost the feeling in his legs and what had felt so good and tight around his dick a minute ago was now starting to hurt. But he was too fucking drained to do much about it at that second.   
  
“We’re gonna have to move sometime, you know.”  
  
“You first.”  
  
“You.”  
  
“My legs are numb.”  
  
“Mine, too.”   
  
In an hour or two, the stars would fade into dawn. And an early morning hiker would find them just like that.   
  
“C’mon, Sam. I can’t move until you do.”  
  
“Whose idea was this crazy position?”  
  
“Jesus, I like you so much better when I’m beating your ass.”  
  
  
  
  
**Epilogue** (Yeah, like porn needs an epilogue, but people wanted to know about the handcuffs Sam mentioned in the first part) Warning: Under-age kinkiness  
  
  
Eventually, the sounds of the water got louder than their breathing.   
  
“Sam, just how did you know what I wanted those handcuffs for?”  
  
“You told Dad you were going to practice with them. I wanted to see, so I followed you.”  
  
“Damn, Sammy, you were only eleven. Did you watch?”  
  
Sam shrugged.   
  
“You were that much of a pervert at eleven?”  
  
“Only around you, Dean.”  
  
“Do not tell me you jerked off while watching.”  
  
Sam shrugged again.   
  
“I can’t even remember that girl’s name.”  
  
“Marcy Thanopolous.”   
  
“Oh, yeah. I was trying to perfect my—heh—oral technique and she kept yanking on my ears. It was damn distracting.”  
  
“So did you ever let her . . .?”  
  
“What?”   
  
“She wanted to cuff you too, I remember. You said maybe another time.”  
  
Dean was silent.  
  
Sam’s grin was blinding. “Who’s the pervert now?”  
  
“Oh, you’re still way ahead of me there, bro.”  
  
“Maybe. But if I were you, I’d sleep light.”  
 


End file.
